


hymn of the heart

by Hjeolr



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, I Tried, Introspection, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Sort Of, courting, the apology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22188862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hjeolr/pseuds/Hjeolr
Summary: They say Witchers are emotionless."What- Geralt? What the fuck are you doing here?"They are wrong.Or, the apology we're all waiting for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 353





	1. i look for you

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first contribution to this fandom!  
> I've only watched the Netflix show and have just started on the books, so the characters might be a little OoC. Sorry for that. I tried. 
> 
> English isn't my first language, so please point out any mistake so I can improve!

They say Witchers are emotionless. They don’t need to feel to kill monsters. Some may even say Witchers are monsters. They didn’t dare approach him and shakily handled him his coin when a beast was killed. They thought he could kill them as well as the monsters he hunted could, since he wasn’t capable of empathy. That was bullshit. That was bullshit because, honestly, Geralt felt like crying right the fuck now, staring at a worn-out leather bracelet tied to his wrist. The bracelet Jaskier had given him, as a joke. The bracelet he never took off, except to wash off the blood and disgusting bits of monsters.

_-I imagine you’re probably-_

_Geralt had needed to take his anger out on something, anything. And Jaskier, as talkative as always, had felt like the perfect target for his frustration._

_-Damn it, Jaskier!_

_It was said with such hatred, a low growl from the back of his throat making Jaskier step away from him for the first time. Afraid. But Geralt couldn’t stop, even when the words burnt him the very moment they came out._

_-Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shoveling it?_

_Jaskier’s face had crumbled down, hurt written all over his features. Geralt had always showed irritation, sure. When the bard couldn’t stop talking for shit, or when he hummed songs he knew got on Geralt’s nerves. But Geralt had never screamed at him like that, fangs out and almost ready to fight. It wasn’t-_

_-Well, that’s not fair._

_It wasn’t fair. And Geralt knew it._

_-The Child Surprise,_

_That was Geralt’s fault, not Jaskier’s. Jaskier hadn’t been the one to make that stupid joke that got him a child._

_-the djinn,_

_Jaskier wasn’t really at fault either. Geralt could have just let go, and nothing would have happened, Jaskier wouldn’t have gotten hurt, it was Geralt’s fault. It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault, either, that Geralt was stupid enough to tie Yennefer to him, a woman who has been bound, tied all her life. It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault he had been worried sick about him, guilt eating at his gut. It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault Geralt had hurt Yennefer. It was all Geralt’s. But of course, it was easy, too easy, to take it all out on Jaskier._

_-If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take_ you _off my hands._

_Because of course Geralt thought it was better to lose Jaskier now, to make him go with harsh words rather than have destiny take him away from him eventually. Geralt didn’t even have it in him to look at Jaskier’s face after his words, words that probably hurt like poison, words that Geralt would never be able to take back because that’s the kind of words you don’t forget, the kind of words that scar you, that seep into your blood, that become a part of you. They said Witchers didn’t feel a thing, but how wrong they were. Geralt had violently pushed Jaskier away by fear of losing him, the same constant fear he felt whenever Jaskier accompanied him on his hunting, that disturbing ache behind his ribcage._

_-Right. Um.._

_And Jaskier had sounded so fucking hurt, as if Geralt had just betrayed him, stabbed him right in the heart. And Geralt’s heart had broken down, too._

_-Right then._

_Jaskier had been holding back tears but he hadn’t been able to keep his voice from shaking. Geralt had closed his eyes, as if he could tune out his bard’s broken voice._

_-I’ll.. I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others._

_Because Jaskier wouldn’t be able to pry information from Geralt anymore. He wouldn’t be able to write new ballads about exciting adventures anymore. Geralt felt guilty, once again. How would Jaskier get coin if he didn’t have new embellished tales to sing about? He didn’t want the bard to struggle, but as much as he had wanted to, he couldn’t apologize. Not when Jaskier would be much safer without him, in a comfortable bed with some girl at his side at an inn in a city, not on the ground of a monster-infested forest in the middle of nowhere._

_-See you around, Geralt._

_His voice had given out at his name, and Geralt had wanted to puke._

Now here he was, sorrow written all over his face as there was no one around to mock the emotions the big bad Witcher shouldn’t even feel. He was fiddling with the bracelet that reminded him of Jaskier. He already missed him. The silence felt oppressing without the bard’s constant babbling. He who had once wished for blessed silence wanted desperately to give it back, to trade it back for Jaskier. Geralt had feared he would grow used to the bard’s company and miss it once it would be gone. But it was actually worse than that, Geralt had grown _fond_ of Jaskier. He didn’t miss the company more than he missed the bard. Geralt hadn’t realised what he had had before losing him. He missed the deep blue eyes never looking at him with fear. He missed the brown locks, soft to the eye, that moved almost as excitedly as the bard telling all sorts of tales. He missed the wrinkles close to his eyes, sign of laughter and joy. He missed the bright, sincere smile Jaskier would gift him with. But, most of all, he missed his voice. He had always complained about Jaskier’s incessant talking but now he felt like the world around him wasn’t truly complete without Jaskier’s voice in the background.

All he could feel now was cold, guilt, and anger. He was so angry at himself for letting his only friend – because, in the end, Jaskier was- had been truly his friend – go. Jaskier, who was always cheerful and happy, who couldn’t do harm even if his life was in danger. Jaskier, who couldn’t protect himself. Jaskier, who was trouble’s favourite target. _Jaskier, who couldn’t protect himself nor stay out of trouble._

Dread washed over Geralt, hitting him violently. He barely managed to keep himself from tearing the bracelet off as realisation dawned on him. He had left Jaskier on his own, in the middle of nowhere, miles away from the nearest town. The bard could be attacked by some ruthless bandits, or dragged into the nearest pond of water by Drowners at this very moment for all Geralt knew. And Geralt wasn’t here to save his ass. He couldn’t protect the bard anymore, and Geralt didn’t know if that was worse than pushing him away from the dangerous things the witcher dealt with on a daily basis. At least, with Jaskier at his side, he could look out for him. Guilt surged again. It almost made him choke. He already wanted to apologise, to have Jaskier with him again, so he wouldn’t miss him so _damn much it hurt_ _more than an arrow to the heart._ So he would be able to protect him, so his werewolf instincts – or wasn’t it also a part of the little humanity he had left in him? - that screamed _pack_ , _protect_ and _mine_ would just shut up. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions he didn’t comprehend, emotions he hadn’t even ever felt before and it was seriously fucking him up.

He couldn’t even hope of catching up with the bard. He didn’t know where he was headed, nor which path he had taken. He wasn’t even certain Jaskier would accept to see him after his unfair fit of anger.

For probably the first time in his long, long life, Geralt wasn’t sure of himself.

For the first time in his life, he wanted, _needed_ to be accepted by someone.

For the first time, he actually had regrets about hurting one’s feelings. Because Jaskier wasn’t just anyone, he was Geralt’s friend, maybe even more than that. The witcher wasn’t used to feel… feelings. Not this type of emotion anyway. He could do anger, frustration, exasperation, rage but this.. This wasn’t in his comfort zone at all. He would rather fight a thousand Kikimorrhe than deal with the odd things he sometimes felt around the (too) joyful bard.

He shook his head in the hope of clearing it of any distracting thought. Then, he abruptly stood up with a slight growl. He knew what he had to do, no matter if the bard was at least three days ahead of him. He would catch up with him, and make sure he could protect himself lest he didn’t want Geralt in his life anymore.

Geralt called Roach. She came to him at a leisurely pace, her head down, her teeth grazing the grass. She looked somewhat sad. Geralt could relate.

-You miss him, too, right girl?

She nuzzled his shoulder, causing a barely-here smile to curl the witcher’s lips.

-Don’t worry, we’ll find him soon. But first we need to get him something to protect himself, if ever he’s alone again. Fancy shit, or he won’t take it. It has to suit his.. fucking unique taste, I guess. We’ll manage to get some coin.

Geralt patted her neck gently. She snorted. He swiftly mounted her. The saddle felt familiar under his arse. He clicked his tongue and engaged in a fast trot.

They passed a few towns before Geralt finally found a decent enough cutler. The witcher already had the blade, he actually just needed the cutler to make it prettier? Yeah, that’s definitely a word Jaskier would use. Geralt explained the man what he wanted, earning him a dubious look. He could understand, really. It wasn’t everyday that a witcher came to a cutler. Especially when said witcher asked for a light and easy enough to wield dagger, which handle should be crimped with fucking sapphires. But hey, it wasn’t his fault if Jaskier had fancy tastes. Sure, Geralt could have given him a simple, dull dagger, it would have been enough for Jaskier to defend himself whenever trouble found him (again). But.. he owed the bard an apology, and he guessed giving him this gift was a decent replacement for a ‘sorry’.

Indeed, Geralt had made a decision. He would just break in the room Jaskier rented at an inn – when he found it, that is – and discreetly hide the dagger in the bag the bard would probably carry around. Then he would leave. He knew it was cowardly. But he didn’t want to face Jaskier yet. He felt too guilty, too ashamed to even dare look him in the eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to imagine the icy cold glare Jaskier would undoubtedly give him upon noticing his presence. He didn’t want to see the hurt on Jaskier’s face even. He wasn’t sure he could take it. Yeah, he would content himself with giving him the enchanted dagger. At least his mind would be at peace, knowing Jaskier would have something more threatening than his lute to fight with if he ever needed too. If he didn’t immediately throw away the weapon, that is.

The cutler told him he would have to wait a few hours, if not a whole day, for his work to be done. Geralt nodded curtly at that, handling the man all the coin he had. However, the man shook his head as he only took half of what Geralt had intended to give him – carefully not touching his skin, as if the witcher was walking poison or something. It still hurt Geralt a little, even after all this time.

-That won’t be necessary, Witcher. Consider it as a thank you for all you did for humanity.

Ah. Jaskier’s songs must have reached this part of the world then. He grunted, but took back the remaining coins. He wouldn’t miss a chance to keep what he earned. He turned, intending to go back to Roach and tend to her, but the cutler stopped him in his tracks.

-This pretty bard tells very exciting tales after all. He’s got a beautiful singing voice, too. Very catchy songs he sings. You’ve got yourself a good companion, Witcher. He thinks very highly of you.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. Of course the man was talking about Jaskier. He absently ran a nervous hand through his white hair. That meant he had been here, surely. But how long ago..? The bard couldn’t possibly speak of him with affection, nor respect, after what had happened.

-How long ago was he here?

-What do you mean? Aren’t you travelling with him?

Geralt frowned.

-Not at the moment. He grunted.

If Jaskier was in this town, it would make his task way easier. Even though Geralt didn’t really know whether he was ready for this or not.

-Oh, well. He’s currently performing in this inn, I believe.

The man pointed to a dusty-looking building. Above the door hung a sign reading _The Blue Peacock._ Strange name, but not the strangest he’d come across. Geralt curtly nodded. He untied Roach, murmuring sweet nothings into her perked ears. Then he walked slowly with the mare flanked at his side to the inn.

He could hear the familiar sound of a lute being played a few feet from the door. He took his time to tie Roach again. He gave her food then patiently waited for her to drink all the drinking water he’d found for her, all the while straining his ears to try and catch a particular voice. He wasn’t disappointed. A soft voice was starting to sing, as melancholic accords were played on the lute. He recognised Jaskier’s voice immediately.

The inn quieted down, so Geralt was able to pick up words from the song the bard was humming gently. He didn’t recognise the melody. It must be a new song. The witcher was oddly eager to hear it, to hear Jaskier sing again after weeks of silent travelling across the lonely woods. Jaskier’s voice was full of emotions as he softly, almost shyly, sang his heart out,

_“How can I say this without breaking,_

Geralt felt his heart beat louder against his constricting ribcage. Jaskier sounded on the verge of tears, feelings unknown to Geralt rasping against his throat. Geralt stepped closer to listen.

“ _How can I say this without taking over_

_How can I put it down into words_

_When it’s almost too much for my soul alone”_

His voice was full of.. full of _something_ Geralt never thought would be staining the bard’s sweet voice. His ordinarily soft and flawless voice broke down once or twice, something that Geralt never witnessed it happening when the bard sang. Geralt stepped closer, going as far as passing the open threshold. He laid against the decaying wall as he looked for the bard.

He found him easily, as always. He didn’t wear as much colourful clothes as he usually would, but the deep blue of his tunic was hard to miss among the dirty rags the patrons wore. Geralt’s orange eyes glowed as he took in Jaskier’s appearance. The bard was thinner than he remembered. He looked almost ready to break, his once shiny brown hair now a dull and dirty colour. He barely grazed the lute’s strings with his deft fingers, but it was enough for it to chant the most heart-breaking notes. Jaskier wasn’t looking at the crowd. He who always loved having all eyes on him, and who would always preen under the attention didn’t even spare his public a glance. He was concentrated on the movement of his fingers, his brows slightly furrowed. He wore an expression Geralt couldn’t quite decipher. He had never been good at reading humans’ emotions that showed on their face. Still, despite Jaskier’s miserable appearance, Geralt felt his heart bit a little faster, felt his palms wet, and had to hold back a truly happy smile. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, seeing the bard was here, okay, _alive._

However, Geralt would soon find himself being very, _very_ wrong.

_“I loved and I loved and I lost you_

_I loved and I loved and I lost you_

_I loved and I loved and I lost you_

_And it hurts like hell_

_Yeah it hurts like hell”_

It was as if someone had taken Geralt’s heart, squeezed it, hard, then threw it on the floor to step away mischievously. He felt it break, and it hurt so much. Desperation poured into the words, and when Jaskier looked up, his eyes had lost their usually brilliant shade of blue for a dull, hurt light blue. He looked like a ghost, possessed by his own music. There was no poison in his words however, as if he blamed himself entirely for his loss – because, yeah, Geralt was sure the song was actually about him. Jaskier had loved too much once again, and Geralt had hurt him, badly. And fucking Jaskier, too kind, had just taken it, taken everything, the anger, the blame, the sorrow, the hurt without even relenting Geralt the tiniest bit. Geralt wanted nothing more than to plead forgiveness to the bard, to do something, anything, to erase these feelings that had no place in Jaskier’s heart.

But he had something to do, first. He took the stairs. No one noticed, too enthralled by the song as they were. As he arrived upstairs, he followed the bard’s scent – flowers and camomile and cider and _home_ – to the room Jaskier occupied for the night. He stopped in front of the door the scent was the most present on. He hesitated for a bit before tentatively pushing on the wooden surface. Unsurprisingly, the door opened to reveal a well-tidied room, except for the undone bed. Damn Jaskier and never thinking of locking doors. The door made a squeaking sound as Geralt opened it wider so he could step inside.

He took a deep breath once the door was closed. The scent filled his senses. His shoulder relaxed imperceptibly. It truly felt like home, the scent floating in the air comforting. Geralt moved away from the door to check the small room for any ill-intentioned spell – one was never too careful.

His face remained calm, as cold as ice, as he slowly walked from the bed to the single chair in the room, where laid the bard’s bag. A pencil was abandoned on the floor, against the wall. It had probably rolled from the numerous blackened sheets spread on the floor. Geralt crouched down to properly look at the mess on the floor. While Jaskier was a freak about cleaning, always folding his clothes before bathing and keeping away from dirt if possible, the sheets he wrote his ballads on were a total mess. Geralt recognised Jaskier’s messy scrawl; his -a looked like an -e or an -o, his words overlapped each other, making the whole thing unreadable for one with no trained eye. Verses often found themselves lost between absently-drawn sketches. Geralt didn’t know shit about art, but to him the sheets themselves looked oddly beautiful. It was like entering Jaskier’s mind.

His gaze travelled from the messy sheets scattered on the floor to the neatly-folded clothes on the chair. They were as brilliant and as clean as ever, but Geralt’s sharp eyes noticed the material wasn’t the same. It looked cheaper somewhat. The colours weren’t as bright as they used to. There was also less clothing than Geralt had expected coming from Jaskier. The witcher frowned. A tinge of worry appeared, pulling at his stomach. Did the bard run out of money? He had obviously sold his fanciest clothes to buy cheaper ones. Geralt remembered how thin Jaskier looked, and wondered if the bard had enough to eat good food at least once a day. A worried crease appeared on Geralt’s forehead, as the music downstairs switcher to a more upbeat song. It sounded like everyone in the inn was singing along, making the floor of the first-floor shake in rhythm with the tune. Geralt recognised it, as he had heard it sung to him at least a billion times. The first blatantly untrue ballad Jaskier wrote about him.

Geralt’s lips curled up slightly despite him. He absently hummed along as he swiftly moved around the room. He took out the remaining coins the cutler had given him back. He felt their weight in his palm for a moment, lost in brief contemplation as his lips moved on their own accord,

_“And so cried the Witcher_

_He can’t be blead,_

His voice wasn’t nearly as good as Jaskier’s but the words were familiar enough to his ears it made his shoulders relax a bit more. The words rolled off his tongue, murmured in the soft light of the small room, as Geralt shuffled the sheets to place a coin in the pair of socks he knew Jaskier kept here.

_“Toss a coin to your Witcher,_

He slipped a coin in each pocket of the – now messily folded – clothes.

_“O’ Valley of Plenty,_

Another coin went in his hung jacket pocket.

_“O’ Valley of Plenty,_

And he slipped some in the bard’s bag, the clicking sound satisfying to hear.

“O’…” 

He hid the last of his coin in the bard’s notebook as he murmured the note.

However, he didn’t have the time to put the (now crushed) dandelion he had picked on the way in the bag as well. He didn’t even get to take it out, actually, as the voice opened with a sharp hiss. Geralt didn’t jump, even though he was surprised he hadn’t heard anyone come upstairs. He didn’t turn around at first. Surely it was someone who mistook Jaskier’s room for his, and they would go away immediately upon seeing the witcher.

Of course, because destiny was really a huge, huge bitch most of the time, the person didn’t turn and go. No, Geralt heard the door bang closed once again, its hinges protesting loudly against the rough treatment. And then, as if it wasn’t enough, a strong smell of ale came to taunt Geralt’s nose, staining the comforting scent of Jaskier in the room. The witcher was about to turn around and throw out the very drunk male that dared to enter the bard’s room when he heard a voice he’d recognise anywhere.

-Shit I’m so drunk.

Geralt froze. His senses focused on the person making a ruckus behind him. He could now smell a bit of Jaskier’s perfume mixed with the disgusting, cheap ale. The bard must have not noticed him yet. He sounded focused on walking straight and not bumping into the hard wood of the walls. Geralt couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look at the man. It would make all of this way too real. He had just wanted to check on Jaskier’s belongings, to make sure the bard was okay before going to get the dagger to hide it in his bag now filled with coins. But nothing never happened the way Geralt wanted it do. The guilt surged again as his shoulders completely relaxed upon hearing the familiar curses flooding from the bard’s chapped lips. He hated himself for feeling so safe around Jaskier. It wasn’t as if the bard could protect him. Geralt could lift him with one hand, and Jaskier had never wielded something heavier than his lute. But he felt comfortable, at peace and safe around the bard. Probably because he was the first person ever Geralt came to trust completely.

They say Witchers are emotionless, and Geralt never wished anything more than this dumb statement to be true. It wasn’t because he had learnt it was better to show a face devoid of emotion that himself felt nothing inside. It was actually quite the storm here. His mind buzzed with guilt, anger (at himself), sorrow, nostalgia and a lot of longing, and guilt again. Now that he had seen the bard, he didn’t want to leave him. Not again. Probably never again. But even if he finally accepted the fact he didn’t _want_ to be apart of Jaskier for as long as the bard lived, that he _needed_ the man, it didn’t mean Jaskier would want to spend time with him again. He wasn’t even sure Jaskier wanted to forgive him.

-What- Geralt? What the _fuck_ are you doing here?

Well, fuck. Geralt turned around to face the bard. The lightning of the room wasn’t really great, but he could still see the man clearly thanks to his enhanced sight. As he turned, he scrunched up his nose. Jaskier reeked of ale. He had never smelt a smell of alcohol so strong on the bard.

His eyes tracked Jaskier’s movement. He didn’t look stable on his feet and had to lean against the wall. His motions were slower than what Geralt was used to coming from him – Jaskier was always moving. He couldn’t seem to focus on Geralt, but he had a deep frown settled between his eyebrows, though Geralt couldn’t decide whether it was a good or bad frown. The bard wringed his hands before one came up to his lips to pull on the delicate skin here. Jaskier was stressed. He always played with his lips when he was stressed instead of biting his nails like everybody did. No wonder why his lips were so chapped.

Jaskier tried to take a few steps towards Geralt but he failed, losing his balance. The witcher almost reached out to help him to his feet, but he stopped himself at the last moment. Maybe it was incredibly egoist, but he didn’t want to have to witness Jaskier yank away from the touch, as Geralt was sure he would do.

When Jaskier properly looked up at him, Geralt was finally able to see his face in his entirety. He didn’t really know what it was that he felt upon seeing the totally lost, wrecked and so fucking _desperate_ look the bard cast upon him. However, he didn’t have much time to react as Jaskier’s mouth transformed to a bitter, angry sneer.

-Come to taunt me again, haven’t you? Or did you miss me- oh don’t look at me like that, _of course you don’t_. So, what are you doing here? Spying on me? Making sure I’m alive? Well, sorry for you, but I am and I plan to be for a long time. Or did you still have some mean words to say to me, uh?

Jaskier spat, his words a hoarse slur because of the alcohol burning at his throat. Geralt stood here. He didn’t know what to do, nor what to say. _Fuck._ Jaskier kept going, more and more hysterical.

-I know that all is going wrong in your life because of me, I know it’s my fault for the child, for the djinn and oh I’m so _sorry_ you had to find someone to fucking heal me. You could have just let me die here, you know, if you were so eager to get rid of me.

Jaskier looked like he was on the verge of tears. Geralt didn’t know if these were angry or sad tears. He didn’t know which would be worse. But he knew he couldn’t let the bard think that of himself when it was so blatantly _untrue._ He stopped the bard’s rambling, trying to soften his voice.

-That’s not true.

He wanted to say so much more, but he wasn’t any good at this, at words, it wasn’t in his comfort zone. Jaskier was the one who was good with words, not him.

-What?

Obviously, the bard hadn’t expected Geralt to cut him off. The witcher swallowed. This whole thing was somehow more difficult than fighting.

-What I.. said. About it being your fault and all.

-Are you _apologising?_

Geralt raised an eyebrow. Why was it that surprising? He could apologise. He did. Sometimes. Well, it was rare but he could. But Jaskier looked almost outraged.

-You’re utter shit at this. And, wait, why are you even trying? Di you get bewitched, Geralt? Wait, Yennefer gave me something to check for this kind of things. Hold on, hold on.

As the bard started to rummage through his things looking fairly concerned, Geralt could only stand there awkwardly. His arms fell at his sides and his eyes followed the bard’s every movement. Then, realisation hit him.

-Yennefer?

Jaskier waved a hand at him in a dismissive manner, not bothering to turn around as he answered absently.

-Yeah, we climbed down the mountain together. I still don’t know why she even wanted to stay in my company considering she kept reminding me of how weak I am, yadda yadda yadda. But she did teach me a few useful things, and gave me some potions. I guess she cares about me – who wouldn’t? I’m so amazing, a lot of people enjoy my company – except you of course.

Jaskier’s switching mood was throwing Geralt off balance. It was as if the bard had taken up the familiar snarky, teasing tone he talked to Geralt with, without realising it. Even if the bard was obviously tense, he didn’t smell of fear nor total discomfort around Geralt. But the witcher wouldn’t get his hopes up. It was probably because of the ale.

Suddenly, Jaskier threw a strange liquid at his face with pretty amazing aim for one who wouldn’t walk straight.

-Jaskier, the fuck. It’s freezing cold!

Geralt gritted his teeth before spitting the blueish liquid that ended in his mouth. He grunted, trying to get rid of the substance on his face with his already-dirty hands.

-What do you mean it’s cold? It’s not hot? Oh my god, I hope I didn’t take the wrong vial! What if I poisoned you? Or is it because you aren’t under a spell? Or maybe I’m just hallucinating. Oh gods-

Jaskier rambled, his hand going to his lips again in a nervous gesture. Geralt sighed.

-Yes, it’s cold. No, I’m not under a spell.

Then, to Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier slumped to the floor and broke down into tears. Geralt worriedly stepped closer. How much fucking ale did the bard drink to be so nervous? His hand hovered over the bard’s shoulder hesitantly, but he didn’t touch him. His shoulders were shaking, his hiccups loud between each word.

-Then why are you here? I can’t believe you want to apologise, you hate me, I’m sorry I’m weak and not good enough, I’m sorry you had to bear with me all these years! I promise I won’t bother you anymore so you can go and live a happy life! I don’t care.

His voice gave out at the end. Geralt hummed, knelt to lift Jaskier up and walked to the bed.

-Yes, I came to apologise. But we aren’t having this conversation right now when you’re obviously very drunk and distressed.

Jaskier protested weakly, trying to slap at Geralt’s face.

-I don’t want to sleep! 

-You need to, Jaskier.

-But you won’t be here anymore tomorrow and I don’t want that!

Geralt grunted and took the bard’s boots off. Jaskier seemed to calm down.

-..Sorry.

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

-For what?

-Saying that. You’re free to go.

Jaskier’s eyes were fleeing Geralt’s searching ones. He looked ashamed, a dust of pink tainting his cheeks. A droplet of blood fell from his chapped lips.

Geralt’s fingers looked for the bard’s. As gently as he could, he grazed the delicate skin here. Jaskier looked up, uncharacteristically shy. Geralt tried to smile at him.

-I know. I’m not leaving. Now, sleep. I’ll be here tomorrow.

-Promise?

Geralt rolled his eyes, almost fond.

-Yeah, promise. Then I will apologise properly as you deserve it.

-And if I don’t accept your apology?

-Then I will beg for forgiveness until you grow tired of me and accept it.

The bard scoffed before yawning. Geralt pushed back a stray strand of hair from his sweaty forehead. Jaskier leant into the touch.

-Would you get on your knees?

Jaskier’s words were slurred. Geralt paused for a moment to think about it. Then,

-Yeah I would.

The bard giggled childishly. He looked like he was fighting sleep. Geralt chuckled and added,

-If you sleep now, you’ll get the thing I want to give you faster.

Jaskier perked up at that as Geralt’s smile stayed on. It was so easy to bribe the bard.

-A gift?

-Yeah.

-But you never give me gifts.

-Now’s a good time to start then.

Jaskier seemed to think really hard for a moment. Finally, he simply murmured a sloppy “yeah, okay” before closing his eyes. It was too hard to keep them open. A silence settled over them, Jaskier’s breathing slowing. But Geralt could hear he wasn’t sleeping yet.

-Don’t leave.

It held a desperate tone despite Jaskier’s tired voice. Geralt nodded even though the bard couldn’t see him. He sat more comfortably next to Jaskier, shuffling the sheets to cover the bard. His hand found Jaskier’s. He intertwined their fingers and squeezed once.

As Jaskier was falling asleep, too exhausted, he murmured.

-I won’t. Not again.


	2. in the middle of the light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt makes an interesting encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quite short update! I'm currently writing the third chapter, so it should be posted soon.   
> The chapters' titles are from a poem of Nayyirah Waheed.
> 
> I'm not a native English speaker, so please point out any mistake so I can improve!

Geralt stirred with a grunt. A ray of sunshine was playfully tickling his face. He moved so it wouldn’t bother him anymore. Unfortunately, his muscles protested. He felt sore everywhere. He quickly blinked the remnants of sleep away, straightening. Upon looking down, he found out the source of the slight aching. He must have slept in a position as weird as the one he was in now. His legs were dangling off the edge of the relatively comfortable bed. His head leant at an odd angle against the hard wood of the headboard. His back was stiff, turned slightly towards the middle of the bed. One of his arms somehow got stuck under his back. The other one was splayed across the bed. Geralt frowned as he felt something warm tightly wrapped around his hand. He tentatively squeezed the thing, only to discover it was a much smaller and soft hand. 

He was suddenly way more awake, as he remembered the events of the previous evening. His gaze fell upon the sleeping bard at his side. He looked at their interwined hands with something akin to wonder. How they had managed to never let go of each other during the night, Geralt didn't know. Especially considering Jaskier was a nervous sleeper, always moving and tossing. However, Geralt hadn't heard the bard move that much during the night. Jaskier now faced Geralt completely. His whole body seemed curled up around their hands. The bard had brought them to his chest at some point, as if he was cuddling them. Geralt let out a fond smile at the sight. The bard still smelled strongly of the cheap ale they served downstairs and he had some drool rolling off his chin, but it was kind of adorable. The witcher had missed this, waking up next to his the bard, even if it had never been in such.. conditions. They sometimes did cuddling, to protect Jaskier's frailer body from the cold but it had never been as intimate as holding hands.

However, Geralt didn't know if they would once again sleep together after all that had happened. He understood Jaskier might not trust him anymore, even if he happened to forgive him one day. So, he decided to enjoy the moment and let himself linger in bed. He breathed in the soft and familiar scent that enveloped the room. It smelt of home and, oddly, safety. Witchers shouldn't ever feel safe, they lived in a dangerous world full of ennemies and monsters to kill. They weren't allowed much comfort, even less a sense of safety. And yet, here Geralt was, his muscles relaxing upon being around the familiar bard, his scent calming. He didn't know exactly _when_ Jaskier had started to feel like trust, safety and home. He found out he didn't care. If one person should feel like this to Geralt, it could only be Jaskier. It was only normal, after decades of knowing each others _(_ _Geralt_ _couldn't_ _bring_ _himself_ _to_ _even_ _think_ _it_ _was_ _because_ _of_ _something_ _entirely_ _different_ _;_ _it_ _was_ _already_ _difficult_ _enough_ _to deal_ _with_ _friendship_ _)_.

After what felt like only mere seconds, but could have easily been minutes as well as hours, Geralt tried to break out of Jaskier's hold as gently as he could. The whole process took way too much time, but Jaskier hadn't so much as grumbled, so Geralt counted it as a success. He silently made his way towards the door, leaving his stuff on the floor so Jaskier would know Geralt hadn't left him _again_ _._ He opened the wincing door but didn't step out. He turned around once again, glancing idly at Jaskier to check up on his breathing. It remained as deep as it was when Geralt woke up, so the witcher guessed the bard wouldn't be up before he made his return. He closed the door behind him, feeling content. The bard was safe now, and even if he didn't forgive him for shouting at him, Geralt was assured he could protect himself with what he was about to give him. 

With these comforting thoughts in mind, he got out of the dusty inn. Before going to the cutler, he headed to the stables. Roach softly neighed to greet him but was quick to disregard him for the food he had brought. He didn't mind though, and petted her neck gently. He then unknotted her mane, his fingers working quickly with a skill that could only come from habits. When she was done with her food, she nuzzled his shoulder and snorted gently. He smiled at her.

-Yeah, I'm going. Can you stay here for a little while, girl ?

She snorted again and pushed him towards the entrance of the stables. He chuckled, patted her on the nose and then headed to the cutler. Some people recognised him on the way and they got quick work of clearing the way. He was used to this now, so he showed his usual cold face to keep everyone away. He wanted to go back to Jaskier as soon as he could. 

His long strides indeed lead him to the man in a shorter time. Unfortunately, the cutler wasn't here. A little girl, probably five, sat on the counter. She was happily balancing her feet, her head moving in rythm with the ballad she was humming. Even her brown curls looked like they were having fun. Geralt grunted but tried to look non-threatening to the kid. He was disappointed he didn't find the man here. He worried Jaskier would wake up to an empty room, or worst, decided to leave. The girl looked up at the gruff sound. Howevery, Geralt didn't expect her to offer him a wide smile. He sniffed the air, even more surprised to see there was not even an ounce of fear tainting the air. It was quite unusual. People were usually scared of his appearance, specifically children. He did look quite.. Intimidating.

-Hello mister witcher! 

Geralt raised an eyebrow. The little girl knew who he was, but greeted him cheerefully nonetheless. A warm feeling spread in his chest. He knelt in front of her to look her in the eyes. He smiled when the action made her giggle. Geralt definitely had a soft spot for children.

-Hello. You  can call me  Geralt .

He kept his tone gentle and tried to soften the deep rumble that was his voice. The last thing he wanted was to scare her. However, she simply beamed at him and nodded with enthusiasm.

-Okay! My name's Freyja! 

-That's a nice name. 

The little girl's smile widened, more than what Geralt thought was possible. 

-Thank you! 

Silence fell over them, but it was rather comfortable. Geralt didn't get up and let the little one observe him with the endearing curiosity all children had. He kept his face blank but let go of the coldness he usually wore as a mask so as not to be bothered by any too bold \- or just stupid \- human. The girl's deep brown eyes locked on his own. She looked like she was enthralled by the unusual amber colour. It was a nice change. 

She wandered her eyes over him for a few more minutes before getting bored. She was balancing her feet again and humming. Geralt recognised the song; it was the one Jaskier sang yesterday, the one full of desperate melancholy and so much hurt. But the kid had picked up a much more cheerful tune. It was odd to hear such sad words hummed with innocence. Geralt smiled despite him. The girl turned to him, watching him.

-I thought you would have sharper canines.

She blunted, but it wasn't in any way mean. She even looked a bit disappointed, as if it would make him cool and not a monster. Geralt chuckled.

-I do. But I  don't show  them .

Freyja frowned, sending him a perplexed look.

- Why ?

-Because people tend to be scared. 

Freyja shrugged as if it say these people were stupid. She wouldn't be wrong. Then the girl took it upon herself to fit in the silence. She started to talk about anything and everything, really, reminding Geralt of Jaskier. She told him about her morning, how the dress she was wearing was her favourite even if it had to be mended a dozen times. Then she engaged in a tale she thought exciting, but which didn't really make sense if you asked Geralt. Killing monsters wasn't always as easy as depicted. Geralt didn't really make any comment, but it didn't seem to bother her in the slightest, which was always refreshing. The witcher didn't like to talk. However, he found himself interested in the little girl's tales. She told him she was five, confirming Geralt's earlier guess. Now that he had talked with her, he realised she didn't have the mind of a five year-old. The girl being unafraid of him being one of the reasons, but he also found her oddly clever. It was always nice to talk with kids anyway.

At one point though, she stopping talking for the sake of sharing her stories, and adressed the witcher directly. 

-Why're you here anyway?

-I'm waiting for the cutler.

-Oh! That's my dad! Don't worry, he'll be here soon. 

She smiled, drumming her hands over the wooden work surface. Geralt hummed. He could see the resemblance, now. The girl had skin as tan as her father's, and her lips had the same way of curling up when she smiled. 

-What did you ask for, Geralt?

-A  dagger . 

She nodded but looked like she was waiting for a little more than that, eyes big and shining. Geralt sighed and indulged her.

-I already had the blade. I wanted your dad to make the handle prettier. The whole thing must be light, though. It's for.. a bard.

Freyja nodded once again, as if Geralt had just told her the deepest secret the world hid. But her smile dimmed and she narrowed her eyes. 

-Is  it for  Jaskier ? 

Geralt was a bit taken aback at the sudden question but more especially at the protective tone the girl held. Jaskier must have made a friend. 

-Yes, it is.

And, before Geralt was also curious,

-How do  you know  him ?

Freyja  brightened once  again .

-I was playing and some kids were bothering me but Jaskier sent them away! He kinda hit one of them too, because they didn't feel scared of him. I bandaged his hand because he kept complaining. 

Freyja put her hands on her hips, trying her best to look exasperated but it was only cute. She was smiling.

-He sounded like he was five! 

Geralt tried not to chuckle at the girl's misplaced outrage; she was five, too.

-But then we talked lots and lots and he's really nice! He even sang for me. And he asked me to help him write a cute ballad! He's really, really talented. And he bought me food, even if it was his last coins. I saw it. 

Freyja  pouted . 

-I didn't want him to pay but he wanted me to eat. And then he taught me to throw punches to scare the meanies away. 

Geralt smiled, fond. Jaskier was truly too kind for the world he lived in. However, he was a bit surprised at the last part. Since when did Jaskier learn to fight ? 

-He taught you to fight?

Freyja  nodded , all  smiles and  sunshine . 

-Yeah! Since he doesn't look super scary, like me, he taught me to play dirty and flee as soon as I could. Because, he said,

Then, she hopped off the wodden countertop and pouted in a way Jaskier did sometimes. She obviously was trying to imitate the bard.

-"Not everyone can be as strong as fucking idiots, like witchers." 

Geralt raised an eyebrow. He could admit the girl did a good impression of his friend. Freyja looked up at him, wearing the same expression she had when Geralt mentionned the bard.

-And then, he told me about you. He really, really likes you! He told me you weren't to be scared of and that you were kind. But I doubt that, Geralt, because then he told me you were mean to him and sent him away. Why'd you do that?

Geralt stayed silent. He didn’t know how the bard could still praise him in front of other people after all the hurt he inflicted on him. Freyja was looking at the witcher with piercing eyes, inciting him to talk. When it was clear he wasn't going to answer, the little girl spoke up.

-Is he your friend or not ?

Freyja had put her hands on her hips again and she was looking at him with a disturbing knowing look. Geralt sighed and nodded, still mute. His eyes darted once again towards the general direction of the inn as he slightly leant on his other foot. Freyja then nodded to herself.

-Okay ! What is the knife for, then ? 

Geralt rolled his eyes at the inquisitive behaviour but replied nonetheless.

-I want him to be able to protect himself. 

The girl frowned before chirping up.

-Aren't you here for that ?

The witcher sighed internally. He didn't really want to talk about this to a kid. Actually, he didn't want to talk about this to anyone. But there was something in the way Freyja was staring at him that pushed him to keep on talking.

-I intended to leave it in his room and then leave myself. But we bumped into each other. 

Silence fell upon them once again. Geralt could hear footsteps coming, probably the cutler's. A horse neighed in the distance. Then,

-You're silly. 

Geralt hummed. He breathed out a small « yeah » and avoided looking at Freyja. How deep he had fallen to be ashamed in front of a five year-old. 

-Are you going to apologise ? 

-I  am . 

For once, it wasn't a lie. Jaskier deserved an apology. It wouldn't be fair of Geralt to be selfish and go away again before Jaskier make him. 

-The knife's a good idea then ! I think Jaskier will like it. It's really pretty. Like him. 

Geralt nodded without really thinking about it. Freyja giggled. It was at this moment that the cutler came. 

He lazily settled behind the wooden countertop as Geralt's eyes were following his every movement. Then, he produced seemingly out of nowhere the dagger Geralt had ordered. 

The thing was indeed pretty. The blade shone under the timid sun. It had obviously been sharpened with precision. The handle was beautiful, of a deep gold-looking material with a rather big sapphire at the base. It looked as fancy as it looked deadly. It was perfect. 

The cutler handed him the weapon with a sympathic, proud smile. Geralt took it with great care. He even allowed a small smile to grace his lips before giving the man a thankful nod. He nodded back before turning around and busying himself with his work.

As Geralt was about to turn and go, eager to give Jaskier the present, a small hand grabbed his biceps. He looked down at Freyja and almost laughed at the contrast. Freyja's tiny and much tan hand stroke against his own white skin, under which laid powerful muscles. The girl smiled brightly at him with mischief in her eyes. She whispered, as if telling a secret. 

-Hey, if you want to court him, give him flowers. Or rocks ! Rocks last longer ! Pretty and shiny rocks. Or offer him food\- food is good. There was this boy who gave me a potato once and..

Geralt gently slapped away her hand but that did not stop her rambling. He was grateful he knew how to control himself enough not to blush at Freyja's advice. However, he nodded as an amused smirk curled up his lips. He left the little girl here, while she was still babbling about every sort of food that could (not) possibly exist. 

He tried hard not to think about the crumpled dandelion he had been about to slip in Jaskier's bag the day before. It wasn't courting nor flirting as long as Jaskier wasn't aware of it, so he had no reason to be embarassed about it, and about the multiple gifts he had given him.. before. 

_(He_ _wasn't_ _ready_ _to_ _accept_ _the_ _fact_ _he'd_ _been_ _trying_ _to court the bard for longer_ _than_ _he_ _dared_ _to admit._ _It_ _helped_ _that_ _t_ _he bard_ _was_ _the_ _most_ _oblivious_ _person_ _he's_ _ever_ _met._ _)_

**Author's Note:**

> The song Jaskier's singing is Hurts like Hell by Fleurie.  
> I'll probably write the real apology later, in a next chapter. Maybe add some cute scenes too.


End file.
